A Bitter Mind Is the Devil Playground
by GoodKing0
Summary: A short journey in the psyche of Argus Filch, Caretaker of Hogwarts. (WARNING: ONE-SHOT, Ramblings and (something that in shortage of a better term I will call) Angst)


**A N: I don't own the Harry Potter franchise. Shocking, isn't it?**

Brats. He hates them. Running around the corridors of his beloved castle, breaking rules every step.

OH, yes, they look so guiltless, with their tiny robes and stupid wands. The teachers always willing to forgive them, always assuming their innocence. Always assuming him wrong. When he knew that they were guilty. Guilty of the greatest of crimes. The crime of being wizards. When he wasn't.

Argus Black never had a simple life. His parents hated him. Because he was Wrong. A Freak. A Monster. Worst of a Muggle.

A Squib.

Kept away by the age of 6 from the eyes of the other magical families, hidden in the dungeons of one of the Black manors. His only company the family House-Elf. His name was Filch.

He always liked the bugger. Small and serviceable, yet always ready for a bitter remark for his masters, when he thought nobody was listening. They weren't. He was.

At the age of 11, his letter from Hogwarts never arrived; He was tasked by his hateful mother to help him in his chores, giving a purpose to his useless life of a Squib. The elf was surprisingly kind to him, teaching him how to do his chores without the use of magic, but always helping him in the hardest one. He was the closest thing to a friend that he ever got.

At the age of 16 he had found a bag filled with kittens near the river outside the manor. Some bastards had probably thrown it there for fun. They're all dead except one. A male, the smallest of the lot. Pity overtaking his now bitter heart, he take him home, and call him Mr. Norris.

At the age of 17 his father, during one of his drunken rages, launches a chair against Filch, killing the elf.

Argus is then instructed to clean the mess.

The same night he leaves the manor, Mr. Norris in his arms, stolen possessions with him. He buries Filch's body in the forest, near the river. On his unmarked grave, he spilled many tears. The last of his life.

Because that day, Argus Black died, buried with his first, and only, friend.

That day, Argus Filch was born.

Argus Filch then began his voyage of Self-Discovery. The silverware stolen from the manor now sold for Muggle money and galleons, Filch travels the Muggle and magical world, in search of an answer at his question.

What's my purpose?

At the age of 21, while holding an empty shotgun in a pawn shop in Texas, he find his answer.

He is now there, in the same castle that rejected him because of his condition.

Mr. Norris died long ago, after becoming the father of many cats. Who then became fathers and mothers of other cats. He gave them to Mrs. Figgs, another squib, Mrs. Norris the only one he kept.

The arrogant wizards believe him a stupid Squib, hired only for pity. They are wrong.

He has the power. The students, the teachers, maybe even the headmaster don't realize that. But he has the power.

Years of patrolling in the halls of Hogwarts has given him enough knowledge of the place to know almost every secret passage. To always know all the passwords to the Houses dormitories. To know when most of the students are gathered together, with few possibilities to escape.

He knows how to avoid the Elves, the Ghosts, the Paintings and the Magical Wards.

During all of those years, he confiscated so much dark and dangerous magic to make Lord Voldemort himself grew pale. Or at least paler.

He knows of the existence of a magical room that grants any wishes.

He knows what a time-bomb is. And how to make it work.

He now sits in his room, oiling his shotgun.

One day he will kill them, the bloody brats. They don't deserve their gift, wasting it to turn rats into cups. One day he will enter every dorm, his shotgun ready, and will kill as many wizards as possible. One day he will go to the Room, summon loads of C4, and place them under every table of every house, set to explode during dinner. One day he will unleash every single dark and dangerous spell he ever confiscated, laughing while watching the bones of the brats turn into sand.

He smiles at the thought, now posing his shotgun on a shelf. One day.

Outside his door there's a loud bang. Filch winces, opening the door. A small swamp is now formed outside his room. On the other side, the Weasley twins and other students laugh at his misfortune.

One Day!


End file.
